


Natasha Romanoff

by FriendlyNeighbourhoodSin



Series: Inside the Mind of.... [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Gen, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7725781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyNeighbourhoodSin/pseuds/FriendlyNeighbourhoodSin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late, and Natasha Romanoff is left alone with her thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natasha Romanoff

**Author's Note:**

> Hey pals! I've decided to make a whole series about various Avengers and what often goes through their minds. They will take place during different time frames (Post-Civil War, Pre-Winter Soldier, etc), and will focus on what I think is eating them alive individually. This will not be a happy series, and there will be a lot of angst/sadness ahead.

It was the time of night when you would sit outside on your steps, staring at the sky. You would watch the last light of day disappear, bringing forward a world shrouded in darkness. The wind and the sounds of the neighbourhood would instill you with an unidentifiable feeling, like one of nostalgia. Natasha Romanoff was experiencing none of these things. She couldn’t. Try as she may, what should be simple pleasures became overwhelming feelings of dread and emptiness.

Nothing had ever been the same since the Red Room. Nothing could be looked at the way it could before. Everything was different. She was different. So different, that she often wondered who she even was. But tonight wasn’t the same. Tonight the question wasn’t who am I. the question was: Was I ever somebody? Was there a me before who I am now?

She was young, very young when first introduced to the Black Widow Ops. So young, in fact, that she often has trouble remembering the beginning. She was raised there, with other young female orphans. All of whom were sent with her to the Red Room once they became old enough. That’s when the training started. Brainwashing, to create fearless fighters for the Motherland. The perfect spies. Natalia Romanova never struggled with her handlers. She saw what happened if you did.

She stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, her thoughts becoming uncontrollable. She had been recruited so young. You haven’t figured out who you are at that age, and the point of the training was that you never would. You weren’t a person. You were a creation, made of stone. You were a spy. A weapon. A Black Widow. She remembers her first mission. She was their most promising success, so she had been sent in alone. Her mind was focused, aligned. Reach the targets. Get the information. No survivors. And there hadn’t been. She had blown up the building, after discovering a bug planted on her clothes. Within the next week, 25 people were buried. Well, what was left of them.

Anger. That’s all Natasha could feel was anger. Alone in her apartment in Manhattan, she let it consume her and fill her being with rage. Anger towards the Red Room. Towards Ivan Petrovich, who had found her, a sick, dirty orphan, and brought her there. Towards Russia, and all who lived there. All those who let them take take the life that she hadn’t even been able to have. She could feel the tears in her eyes, but refused to let them fall. She told herself it was because she was strong, but in the back of her mind, a voice told her differently.

Tears are weakness. Weakness has no place here. We discard the weak.

She took a deep breath, and let out a bark of laughter as something came to her mind. More specifically, someone.

“You ever get overwhelmed, you know what you gotta do? Watch Spongebob! That shit is lit, you’ll feel better in no time!”

“I’m not five, Clint.”

Clint Barton. Hawkeye. The dumbass with a bow and arrow. She wasn’t supposed to go on that mission to Budapest. But when the original had been declared unfit for a solo mission, Natasha had been sent in to replace her. Two months undercover when she met the american. He claimed to be there on vacation, but his unnaturally tense posture gave him away. Her plan was to eliminate him as soon as possible, but something had given her trouble. He was...kind to her. Even when he found out she was there for an assassination, and had backup on the way to help take him and the target down. He was kind. She could still hear him.

You don’t have to do this. Come back with me, they can’t hurt you there. I promise.

She had listened. Escaped in a helicopter in the middle of the crossfire, and never looked back. She became close to the kind, sarcastic idiot who had saved her. The deep, intense love for him was a feeling that they had tried to kill inside of her, but Clint had reignited it. At first it frightened her, fearing that they might find out. Secrecy was survival. She left that life behind her, and started again. But not without consequences. She put her hand under her pillow, feeling the cool, familiar metal of the gun. It wasn’t powerful, but it would get the job done if needed.

The job, she thought. There was always a job, it was a never ending cycle. It didn’t matter where she was.

Her mind traveled back, to three years ago in D.C. She hadn’t been ready for it. Not the destruction. Not the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.

She hadn’t been ready for him.

Seeing him again had brought a rush of memories and emotions. The Winter Soldier. She had feigned ignorance around Steve; Natasha had grown attached to the soldier, and she couldn’t drag him into the mayhem that was her past. The Winter Soldier had trained her in the Red Room. A “loan” from Hydra, to help create the most versatile soldiers possible. It had worked. He was their greatest asset, and the Red Room had expressed their undying gratitude for the privilege to use him. Natasha scoffed. They spoke of him, of James, like he was an animal. An object, disposable, malleable. She never thought of him that way. It wasn’t right, and she was sure they thought the same about her.

Looking at the alarm clock, Natasha Romanoff decided that that was enough for tonight. She fluffed her pillows and rearranged her blankets, before laying down on her side. And although it wasn’t a recommended choice for safety, she made sure to face away from the window.

She could never sit on her steps and stare at the sky. She could never watch the last bit of daylight disappear, leaving behind a world shrouded in darkness. Never listen to the wind and the sounds of the neighbourhood, only to be filled with a feeling much like nostalgia. Because she didn’t want to feel small and insignificant. She didn’t want to be alone in the dark.

She didn’t want to remember.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: this was supposed to be a funny Clintasha fic, but my brain decided to project instead. And thus the idea for a series was born. Let me know what you think!


End file.
